


Tough Cookie

by sunken_ships (sunken__ships)



Series: write like you're running out of time [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Multi, Non-binary Laf, alexander is a clumsy fool, but he doesn't want to admit it, featuring Alexander at like every stage in his life pretty much, there's some fluff too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7365937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunken__ships/pseuds/sunken_ships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the lyric: "a tolerance for pain"</p><p>Five times Alexander is able to tolerate pain, and the one time he isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough Cookie

**Author's Note:**

> *doesn't like to read angst* *writes it instead*  
> hey everyone! there's not much to say other than i hope u like this, it's the first 5+1 fic i've written. as with all of my fics, [text written in brackets like this is in another language (in this case it's French)].

**a tolerance for pain.**

 

-1-

     “Oh, Alexander!”

     Alexander frowned down at his hand. It stung a little, and it was leaking blood. He looked at the can of fizzy drink. He’d broken off the tab that opened the can, and he’d accidentally swiped his palm across it.

     He looked up as his mother bobbed down beside him and took his hand, inspecting it. “Oh dear, that’s a nasty cut, isn’t it, my love?”

     Alexander shrugged. “’S not that bad.”

     His mother raised her eyebrows at him. “It doesn’t hurt?”

     “A little bit.”

     His mother laughed and pulled him in to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re a tough little cookie, aren’t you?” she said with a laugh. She helped him to his feet. “Come on, let’s get this cut cleaned up.”

 

 

-2-

     Alexander wasn’t a fan of his current situation. Their father had taken off when Alexander was ten, and their mother had died a few years after, and so Alexander and his brother James had been left with their cousin Peter.

     And James was a royal pain in Alexander’s ass. As most older brothers were.

     On the weekends, while Peter was at work, it was James’ job to take care of Alexander – despite the fact that Alexander was _fourteen_ now, he could take care of himself – which basically involved James carting Alexander around to wherever he wanted.

     Right now, for example, while Alexander was trying to focus on the novel he was reading. But it was hard to concentrate when he was in a park, surrounded by people, and he was in constant danger of being smacked by a rogue soccer ball.

     He sighed, and let his eyes drift over the first sentence of the paragraph, and then realised that he’d read the same sentence over about seven times. He growled irritably.

     There was a loud, “Watch out, Alex!” and Alexander barely had time to look up before Peter’s soccer ball collided with his face at full force.

     Alexander cried out indignantly, and tasted blood. “Shit,” he hissed, his hand going to his nose. He looked down at himself to see how much blood there was dripping down his front, and wailed to see his book splattered with red.

     James jogged over to retrieve his ball. “Oh shit, sorry,” he said, sounding, surprisingly, fairly sincere.

     Alexander leapt to his feet. “You ruined my book, you _motherfucker_!”

     James gave him a look. “Uh, I actually ruined your nose, which ruined your book.”

     Alexander shoved him as roughly as he could with his free hand, and snatched his book up from where it had fallen to the ground, stomping away.

     “Do you wanna get some tissues or something?” James called after him. “It might be broken.”

     “It’s not broken; it doesn’t hurt,” Alexander snapped over his shoulder. “Leave me the fuck alone, James.”

 

 

-3-

     A crowd had gathered – others equally as drunk as Alexander, John, Lafayette and Hercules – and were showing their enthusiasm. Alexander, meanwhile, was giving some dickhead called Samuel Seabury the roast of his life.

     “You look like a fucking dog,” he said, a little too loudly, his words slurring. “You’re chasing your stupid-ass tail with your arguments. How ’bout you go dry-hump a statue of George?” He mimed it, and his friends howled with laughter. The crowd cheered.

     Seabury, who was looking very red in the face – either from the alcohol, from embarrassment, or from rage – set his jaw. “You’d like to watch that, wouldn’t you?” he snapped back. “I bet you’re into all kinds of weird shit like that.”

     Alexander laughed. “Is that the best you can do?” he jeered. “Listen, sweetheart, _everyone_ here knows that I am into some pretty weird shit. Am I right?”

     The crowd roared in agreement, throwing their various bottles of glasses of alcohol into the air in a toast. There were a few very enthusiastic nods. Some of Alexander’s previous one-night stands, then.

     “Say what you want, Seabury!” Alexander cried, raising his hands above his head, presenting himself as a target. “You can’t say shit. I’m invincible.”

     “Oh yeah?” Seabury said, and lurched forward, shoving Alexander, who, already off-balance, and taken off-guard, toppled over immediately, the crowd’s energy renewed by the beginnings of a bar fight.

     Alexander flailed, trying to regain his balance, and smacked his head against the edge of a table on his way down. Sharp pain jolted through his head and he collapsed to the ground, his bottle spilling beer everywhere, but luckily not smashing.

     He was vaguely aware of John tackling Seabury and dropping a few punches before Hercules hauled him off. Lafayette was down by Alexander’s side. “ _Mon ami_. _Mon petit lion_ ,” they said urgently. “Alexander, are you okay?”

     Alexander blinked a few times, shaking his head slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

     “You hit your head.”

     And Alexander knew that, but apart from a slight dull ache, he felt no pain. He knew a bruise would probably form where he’d hit his head, but it was hardly worth fussing over.

     He got to his feet, Lafayette flitting around him, squawking away about how _you should stay sitting for a while_ and _you might have a concussion_ and _you got beer all over you_.

     Alexander waved them off. “Seriously, Laf, I’m fine.”

 

     Later that night, back at Hercules’ place, Lafayette insisted that Alexander put some ice on his newly-formed bruise, despite Alexander’s insisting that he was fine, really.

     “Does your head really not hurt?” John said unsurely.

     Alexander shrugged. “Nope. I’m pretty tough, you know, John. It’ll take more than a bump on the head to worry me.”

     “It was more than a bump,” Hercules said.

     Alexander rolled his eyes. “Honestly. You guys. You’re like a pack of mother hens. Can we just leave it?”

     There was a pause, where Alexander’s friends all gave each other looks that said _should we or shouldn’t we?_ , but then Hercules looked back to Alexander and said, “I bet Seabury didn’t come off as well as you did.”

     Alexander grinned, and John burst into the story of how glorious his punches had been. The night continued.

 

 

-4-

     Alexander stretched on his way to the kitchen, yawning. He could smell that someone had already started the morning’s round of coffee, and he was eager to cash in on it.

     “Morning,” he mumbled as he entered the kitchen, going straight for the coffee. It wasn’t until he heard the response that he even knew it was Lafayette; he hadn’t bothered to look.

     “ _Bonjour_ , _mon ami_.”

     Alexander poured himself a coffee and curled his hands around the mug, taking a sip. He hummed in appreciation.

     “Sleep well?” Lafayette asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

     Alexander tried to hide his blush under a façade of nonchalance. “I did, actually. Thank you for asking.”

     “Mm, I bet you did.”

     Alexander flipped them off, and Lafayette laughed.

     “Don’t act like you’re not jealous,” Alexander said.

     “Jealous?” Lafayette shook their head, smiling. “ _Non_.”

     Alexander squinted at them. “Yes you are.”

     “I’m not! Why would I be jealous? You think I like John that way?”

     Alexander scoffed. “Fuck off. I know you don’t like John that way; you’re twisting my words. You _know_ I meant that you’re jealous that we’re actually getting some, while you and Herc sit there, twiddling your thumbs, when you should be waking up the neighbours with your ridiculously loud sex.”

     Lafayette flushed dark. “[I don’t know what you’re talking about.]”

     “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

     John took that moment to enter the room. “Squabbling already?” he said, voice still thick with sleep, and he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Alexander’s mouth on his way to get some coffee.

     “We are merely having a discussion,” Lafayette said.

     “No, we’re squabbling,” Alexander said, shooting Lafayette a grin. Lafayette stuck their tongue out in return.

     “What a surprise,” John muttered into his mug.

     Hercules joined them then, and didn’t even speak to anyone, going straight for the coffee. The others ignored him, knowing that he’d speak when he was ready.

     Breakfast slowly started coming together. Alexander decided he wanted toast, and realised that, to get the peanut butter, he’d have to reach up to the top shelf. He swore Hercules and Lafayette put it there just to torture him and John, who were not so gifted in the height department.

     It wasn’t too bad. Whenever Alexander reached up to get it, John liked to compliment his ass, or kiss his neck, slide his hands under his shirt when it rode up.

     Alexander went onto his toes and stretched up, just managing to grasp the peanut butter, but instead of the usual _cute butt you got there_ or _you trying to get me into bed again?_ when he heard someone choking on their coffee. “Jesus, Alex, what happened to you?”

     Alexander grabbed the peanut butter and relaxed quickly, turning around to face everyone – specifically, Hercules, who was staring at him with a mixture of shock and concern.

     Alexander looked down at himself, as if that would magically explain everything. “What? What happened?”

     Hercules put down his coffee and made his way over. “Turn around.”

     Alexander did so, and Hercules pulled his shirt up. He heard two more gasps – Lafayette and John – and then John exclaimed, “Babe, why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

     Alexander twisted around. “What?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”

     “Alex,” Lafayette said, “your back.”

     “What about it?”

     John came over and let his fingers ghost down Alexander’s back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise…”

     “Fucking hell, guys, what is it?”

     “You mean you don’t know?” Hercules said. He gave Alexander a nudge and let go of his shirt. “Go look in the mirror.”

     All three of them followed Alexander to the bathroom, who lifted up his shirt, facing away from the mirror, and peered over his shoulder, checking his reflection.

     There were ugly red lines all down his back. He frowned. “What is that?”

     His eyes flicked over to the reflection of John, who bit his lip. “That was me. Last night. My nails…”

     Alexander laughed. “No shit? Wow. We are _wild_.”

     “I’m so sorry, baby girl.”

     “Don’t apologise.” Alexander pulled his shirt down and gave John a kiss. “It’s hot.”

     Hercules made a sound of disgust. “Okay, time for me to leave.”

     “Me too,” Lafayette said.

     “Hey, Laf,” Alexander called as they and Hercules left the bathroom, “you should get a matching set.”

     Lafayette snapped something unpleasant at him in French, and he laughed.

 

 

-5-

     “Honey, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Eliza called from the ground, squinting up at her husband, her hand shielding her face from the sunlight.

     Alexander clutched the gutter as he felt himself wobble. Keeping one hand firmly keeping him glued to the gutter, he continued cleaning it out. “Yeah, yeah,” he called back. “Don’t you worry. I do this all the time.”

     “I don’t think that’s true.”

     Alexander grunted, dislodging a particularly stubborn stick. He was balanced on a stool on a chair on a table. That was plenty sturdy enough. Okay, sure, the chair was one of those swivel office chairs on wheels, but it was still a chair. Alexander was an adult; he had a sense of balance.

     “It’s a waste of money _paying_ someone to do what I can easily do myself,” he called to Eliza. “Ye of little faith, my dear.”

     The chair began twisting, and he gritted his teeth, trying to slowly direct it back. All right, he’d admit it, it probably wasn’t the best idea. But damn it, he was already halfway done, so he was going to finish the fucking job.

     “Love, we can afford to pay someone,” Eliza said, a little exasperatedly. “I’m worried. Come down. Please.”

     “I appreciate the concern,” Alexander said, stretching his arm as far as it would go down the gutter, sweeping leaves and debris out, “but really, I’m fine.”

     Famous last words. He leant a little too far, and the chair swept out from under him, rolling off the table. With a yelp, he fell heavily, landing first on the edge of the table and then thudding to the ground.

     Eliza let out a panicked, “Alexander!” and rushed over, urging him not to move, what hurts, is anything broken, did you hit your head.

     Alexander was temporarily winded, and his left forearm ached a little, but after a minute or so of getting his breath back, he struggled to his feet. “I’m okay,” he said to his frantic wife. He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Just a little tumble.”

     Eliza’s face was crumpled in concern, and she cupped his face in her hands. “Don’t just walk it off if you’re hurt, Alexander. That was a big fall.”

     Alexander smiled and leant forward, gently pressing his lips to hers. “I’m not hurt,” he said. “I just got a little winded.”

     Eliza didn’t seem entirely comforted, but she nodded. “If you say so.”

     “I do.” Alexander gave her another quick kiss, and stepped back. “Now, if we just anchored the chair to the table–”

     “You are _not_ getting back up there.”

 

     That evening, as they were cooking dinner, Eliza screeched, “ _Your arm_!”

     Alexander dropped the potatoes in the sink in shock, and looked down at his arms. “What?” he cried.

     Eliza swept up to him and touched his left forearm, holding it up. It was swollen, distressingly purple and blue. Alexander balked. “When did _that_ happen?”

     Eliza gave him a look. “You really don’t know?”

     Alexander rolled his eyes. “Obviously I must have done it when I fell. But when did it go _purple_?”

     “Doesn’t it hurt?”

     Alexander shrugged. “Not really. Maybe a little sore.”

     Eliza tutted, and smoothed a hand over Alexander’s hair. “You’re an idiot,” she said affectionately.

     Despite Alexander’s protests, Eliza took him to hospital. His arm turned out to be broken.

 

 

 

 

-1-

     Alexander sat in his chair at his desk. He’d been sitting at this particular chair at this particular desk for hours now, although he’d barely taken notice of the time. He was too busy working. His stomach may have let out a few sounds, but that had been a while ago now. Alexander had told himself he’d get up, stretch, go to the bathroom, eat, drink – all of that time-wasting stuff – as soon as he was done.

     But he was never done. He would never be done.

     He heard a faint knock on his study door, and he muttered, “Come in.”

     The door opened, and Alexander barely spare a glance at Eliza. “Mm?”

     He heard a wet sniff, and then Eliza’s watery voice. “Alexander…”

     It didn’t really register. “Yeah?” he said. “Is it important? I’m busy.”

     “Alexander.”

     He finished his sentence and sat back in his chair, sighing. “Yes?” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as exasperated as he felt. He knew it wasn’t exactly fair to be frustrated with his wife, but she was interrupting h–

     All negative feelings dropped when Alexander saw how distraught Eliza looked. Her face was red and wet with tears, her eyes swollen, her hands clutching at the neck of her shirt as if it was some kind of blanket.

     Alexander was on his feet in an instant, going over to Eliza, taking her in his arms and stroking her hair soothingly. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

     Eliza sobbed into his neck. “It– It’s John.”

     Alexander frowned. “John? What about him?”

     “He’s… He…”

     Alexander pulled back, his heart hammering, his thoughts immediately going to the worst possible conclusion.

     But that’s what it did all the time. It was as if his mind was preparing him for any possible answer – which was never the worst scenario. The worst scenario never happened. So, whatever the answer was, it wouldn’t be as bad as the one his mind had come up with.

     John was on tour, serving in the army. It was scary, yes, but John had assured him before he’d left that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. He’d be safe. It was his second tour, anyway. He knew what to do. He knew what was going on.

     “What’s wrong?” Alexander asked urgently. “Is he okay?”

     Eliza just hiccupped, fresh tears pouring down her lovely face, and all she could manage was a shake of her head.

     Alexander’s blood ran cold, and he felt sick. “What?” he breathed, and already tears were forming.

     Eliza was still shaking her head. “He got shot,” she explained in a trembling voice. “Alex, he’s… He’s gone.”

     And, even though Alexander couldn’t quite understand this information, he was crying. Eliza hugged him closely, and together they cried.

     They continued to cry into the evening. Dinner was quiet, and neither of them ate much. Eliza suggested that Alexander call Lafayette and Hercules, but Alexander would wait until tomorrow. It still hadn’t quite sunk in.

 

     It was the next morning when it truly hit. He and Eliza were making breakfast, and he decided to have peanut butter toast. He went to the cupboard and then realised – yes, of course, Lafayette and Hercules had been over the other day, and they’d moved the peanut butter to the top shelf, as was now tradition, just to be an inconvenience.

     And so Alexander reached up for the peanut butter, and suddenly he was reminded of the countless mornings back in college, and John’s compliments when he reached for the peanut butter, and John’s sleepy smile, and the way he cradled his coffee mug, and his old pyjamas, and his cuddles, and his kisses, and all of a sudden Alexander was reminded that all of that was gone forever, and _John_ was gone forever, even though he promised that he wouldn't leave, not like Alexander's mother had left and his father had left and his brother had left and his cousin had left, John _promised_ he wouldn't leave, and Alexander found himself sinking to the floor, broken sobs wracking his body, and Eliza was exclaiming in surprise and then rushing over, bundling him in her arms, rocking him gently, and he could do nothing but cry and desperately pray that this was all just some horrible nightmare.

     Alexander had always thought that he’d had a tolerance for pain. But he’d have rather broken every bone in his body, feel the force of every nosebleed he’d ever had all at once, have every inch of his skin covered in cuts and grazes and bruises, than feel the sickening, gut-wrenching pain that he was feeling now.

     Anything but this.


End file.
